


Champagne Supernova

by RedStarFiction



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Friendship/Love, M/M, No Drama, Praise Kink, Reader Prompt, Spanking, Understanding, just love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 03:02:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13561347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: Hi, Could you please write something kinky? Like Mickey confesses to wanting something out of the ordinary and Ian goes with it? Thanks xxxxxxxxxAnon, you have given me the excuse I have been seeking. Enjoy :)





	Champagne Supernova

“Ugh! Fuck!”

Mickey bit down hard, baring his front teeth in a grimace and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’re not supposed to drink it like that.”

“Fucking … clearly!”

Mickey looked up at Ian accusingly through watering eyes and pushed his tongue in and out a few times as if testing whether or not it still worked.

“How did that shit get so famous? It sucks!”

“It doesn’t! You just sip it. Like this …”

“I know what ‘sipping’ is, asshole.”

Mickey scowled, setting the flimsy little glass Ian had given him on the table with a look of disdain.

“Here, have some more but this time don’t toss it back like cheap vodka.”

Ian, who had temporarily forgotten that he was not in fact born to caviar and silver spoons, gave Mickey a gently condescending smile and reached over to top up his flute but was waved away by his boyfriend, who had not given in to fantasies of living the life of Gatsby.

“Nah, it’s cool. I’ll stick with beer.”

“Fuck sake, Mick!”

Ian set his jaw firmly and thrust the magnum of Bollinger at Mickey like a weapon.

“Look at this!”

He tapped green bottle with his flute.

“It’s champagne, actual champagne, from France! You are not switching out for beer.”

“Yeah … except that I am though.”

Mickey snarked, giving Ian a sarcastic little smile and grabbing a bottle from the box at his feet

“Look at this …”

Mickey tapped the brown bottle with his fingertip

“It’s beer, from fuck knows where, and I like it.”

Ian set the magnum down on the table with a thump and held his middle finger up to Mickey’s smug face. Mickey grinned around the foaming head of the beer bottle and returned the gesture, swirling his tongue around the rim and dipping it into the froth for good measure as he released a satisfied moan.

Ian could feel his lip beginning to quiver as a smile threatened to break through and he tried to scowl harder but it was no use. He could see from the impish gleam in Mickey’s eyes that he wasn’t buying into Ian’s huff at all.

Mickey drained the bottle and made an exaggerated noise of appreciation, smacking his lips together and setting the empty next to the magnum, patting it with a sort of stubborn pride.

“Just as good, man!”

Ian waggled his head a little bit and Mickey raised his eyebrows in expectation. One liners didn’t come naturally for Ian, you kinda had to give the guy a minute but actually watching them form was part of the fun for Mickey, so he tended to just wait them out and at the very least, they’d usually be so bad they were weirdly fucking hilarious.

“You know, seeing your bottle next to my bottle reminds me of something else.”

“Oh yeah?”

Mickey’s teeth set lightly in his bottom lip as his eyebrows inched higher, daring his boyfriend to go there.

“Yeah, like my huge, thick, full bottle of premium shit that people go nuts for versus …”

Despite the fact that he was pretty sure his boyfriend was about to insinuate he had a small dick, Mickey felt the clutch of his chest tighten with love for the guy and he waited patiently.

Ian was fizzing as much as his champagne with the glee of teasing Mickey. In the quick-fire draw of witty remarks, Ian did not normally win but he was pretty sure he was onto a good one here! His smile was so wide it actually made his cheeks ache and he was tripping over his words in his haste to get them out before Mickey could think of something better and beat him to it.

“… your easily swallowed, quickly emptied, kinda cute but tiny…”

Ian had begun backing away as he spoke, but at the word ‘tiny’ Mickey lunged forward, pretending to be shocked and outraged, and barrelled a laughing Ian backwards onto the sofa.

“Oh you’re real funny, huh? Proper comedian?”

He grunted, a fierce smile tempering his actions as he straddled Ian’s hips and pinned the hand not holding the flute to the back of the sofa.

“Yep!”

Ian grinned, cockily sipping his drink and eyeing Mickey over the rim. A lock of hair had fallen forward over Mickey’s forehead in the tussle and Ian gently untangled his hand from Mickey’s to push it back.

“Come here.”

He cupped the back of Mickey’s head and pulled him gently forward, taking a little more champagne into his mouth and holding it as the bubbles exploded on his tongue. When it had settled down, he kissed Mickey, letting the champagne flow between them, a tiny eruption of flavour and scent they had not shared before.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

“More?”

“Mmhmm.”

Ian smiled and sipped his drink. When Mickey lost his speech in moments like this, it was usually because he was getting something that he desperately wanted but had not realised he wanted. It was a sign that he was processing some new and wonderful sensation and had no concentration left for something as mundane as speech. Some lovers considered screams to be the ultimate sign of their proficiency, for Ian, it was the beautiful sound of silence.

Mickey licked his lips as he pulled away from the second kiss, his pupils were blown with lust though Ian only caught a glimpse of them before they were obscured by the fabric of Mickey’s shirt as he began to undress, staggering backwards off Ian’s lap and kicking off his boots.

Ah. Not only silence but now frantic movements too! Ian smiled to himself and stood up.

He pulled his own shirt over his head and stood, placing his glass at his feet. He unbuckled his belt and let his jeans pool around his ankles, stepping gracefully out of them.

“You want me to leave these?”

Mickey twanged the elastic of his boxers with his thumb, looking up at Ian with rounded eyes.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Mickey’s breath hitched at the thanks and he shifted his weight from foot to foot waiting for Ian to tell him what to do and wishing he’d hurry up.

“I stole something else from work…”

Mickey frowned impatiently but Ian ignored him, this was part of the game. Ian had discovered that Mickey was a little bit like the little toy cars he and Lip had as kids. The springs in those things were temperamental and you had to wind them up just right. The trick was to get the spring good and taut and hold it there until you had the car positioned just right. If your fingers slipped even a fraction, the wheels would spin furiously, and the car would shoot off in the wrong direction and you’d have no control at all. However, Ian learned that if he kept a tight hold until the very last second, he could guarantee that his racer would win every time. 

Ian retrieved his bag and began fishing around, taking his time, aware of the increased fidgeting behind him. The cuffs Ian eventually pulled out of his back were ringed in black fur and as he dangled them from his forefinger, Mickey gave him a slightly confused look.

“C’mon, man. The fuck are we supposed to do with those?”

“Well they’re cuffs, I thought …”

Ian frowned as his finger slipped off the spring and Mickey’s wheels began to do their own thing

“Jesus Christ,”

Mickey muttered, shaking his head and crossing to his junk drawer impatiently, scolding Ian as he rummaged

“If you put me in those and do something I don’t like, I’m gonna break the fuckers and stop you.”

“Why would I do something you don’t …”

“But if you use these …”

Mickey ignored Ian’s interruption and tossed a pair of standard police issue cuffs to him.

“… I’m not goin’ anywhere. Beat me, tickle me, fuck my mouth til I choke on your pubes …”

“Til you …”

Ian felt his face flame as the toy car turned into a monster truck and roared towards him with a screech of rubber.

“… pour hot wax on my nipples and slap me around a bit or …”

Mickey scratched the back of his head and puffed out his cheeks as if pondering other items his grocery list. Ian couldn’t put into words how much he wanted to look at Mickey’s internet search history. He felt at once incredibly aroused and utterly furious at the thought of Mickey having all these hidden desires. That he should feel unable to tell Ian what he wanted … What sort of boyfriend was Ian if Mickey couldn’t talk to him about this stuff? Ian made a decision and grabbed the champagne in one hand and Mickey in the other and lumbered toward the bedroom determinedly.

Mickey stumbled slightly up the stairs as Ian took them three at a time, his longer legs making light work of the distance. Ian shoved Mickey into the bedroom and slammed the door with more force than he meant to.

“Sit.”

“Wh…”

“Fucking sit!”

Ian opened his eyes wide and pointed to the bed and although Mickey’s tongue flicked into the corner of his mouth and his shoulders swaggered a little, he complied without further comment.

“Do you need something from me you’re not getting?”

“Like an explanation for why you’re pissed at me? Yeah maybe.”

Mickey folded his arms and Ian felt suddenly like an overbearing father and the realisation made him flinch.

“I’m not pissed at you. I just want … I want to give you everything Mick. I want to give you everything you want.”

Mickey spread his hands out on his thighs, toying with a few of the hairs. Ian was edging him out of his comfort zone and not in a good way like the cuffs had suggested.

“You do.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Jesus, Ian, man … C’mon! I’m a little drunk, you’re a little drunk, we’re both pretty much naked, can’t we just get on each other?”

Mickey looked up hopefully, tipping his head back dramatically when Ian shook his head in response.

“Fuuuuuuck. Ok. What do you want me to do?”

“Tell me what you like.”

Ian offered the cuffs, a small smile on his lips. He knew he’d gone about this wrong but it was too late to worry about that now. When Mickey didn’t taken them, he tossed them lightly onto the bed. He crouched in front of Mickey and slid his hands up his thighs, fingertips edging just beneath the fabric of his boxers.

Mickey eyed him warily and rubbed a hand absentmindedly through Ian’s hair.

“I like you bein’ a little rough?”

Ian nodded encouragingly and dug his fingers into Mickey’s leg, dragging them down, leaving stark lines on Mickey’s pale skin.

“What else?”

“I like … pain.”

“Like this?”

Ian slide his hand into Mickey’s hair and dragged his head back, baring his throat.

“Mmm … sharper. Like …”

Mickey slapped Ian across the face a loud, open palmed slap that echoed in the small room. For the space of two heartbeats neither of them reacted at all and then Ian uncoiled, pressing Mickey back into the mattress, covering the slight softness of his body with the lean hardness of Ian’s own. Knee to knee. Hip to hip. Cheek to cheek.

“You are fucking done!”

He whispered, kissing Mickey’s earlobe and then nipping it sharply between his teeth. The muffled grunt this promise was met with told Ian he was on the right track. He knelt up and looked down at his boyfriend, Mickey was lying prone beneath him, arms by his sides looking both excited and guilty.

“Did I hurt you?”

The concern in his voice was evident and Ian allowed himself to soften slightly, nodding once and lifting Mickey’s palm to place a gentle kiss in the centre before offering his own out for Mickey to do the same.

Softly bitten lips leave the faintest trace of saliva and Ian smiles at the sight of it. He can see the muscles in Mickey’s neck tensing, readying for the blow he is expecting and something shifts between them. Understanding clicks into place and Ian lets his breath out in a soft sigh. Of course Mickey couldn’t ask for what it is he wants from this, it goes against everything Mickey thinks about himself and Ian feels like a fool for not realising it immediately.

“When you’ve had enough, you call me Firecrotch. Okay?”

“What?”

Mickey cracks one eye open as Ian gently rolls him onto his front.

“Firecrotch. Remember it.”

“Not exactly a fuckin’ chal…”

Mickey’s sentence bites off as Ian’s palm snaps across the seat of his boxers with a sound like gunfire. A second slap follows the first and then another. Mickey tenses each time, his shoulder blades contracting and twitching. He twists his head to the side and tries to look up at Ian, who moves a little closer, letting Mickey have full view of him.

Ian moves his palm in small circles over Mickey’s behind. He’s surprised by how much he is enjoying himself but doesn’t question it. He raises his hand again, making sure Mickey has a clear line of sight and hesitates, giving him time to protest.

When no protest comes, Ian slams it down, harder than before. Hard enough to draw a soft hiss of breath from between Mickey’s clenched teeth and cause a shudder to ripple down his spine.

“When was the last time you got an ass whooping, Mickey?”

He asked softly, using the term he thinks Mickey will be most comfortable with in his current situation

“Never.”

The choked answer surprises Ian but he is careful not to let it show and focusses on building a decent rhythm with his hand. He had always assumed that Mickey would have grown up with frequent beatings but then again, to spank someone you had to actually spend a few minutes acknowledging their existence. When viewed that way, Ian could believe that Terry was not that sort of parent.

“But you’ve wanted it for a while?”

“Mmmm.”

Mickey nodded against the bedding, his entire body is convulsing lightly with each slap now and Ian decides to take things up a notch.

“Lift your hips for me, Mick.”

Mickey shakes his head and mumbles something that sounds like

“Fuck off.”

“Lift your fucking hips, asshole!”

Ian snaps and slowly, Mickey prises himself from the bed, grunting as Ian’s fingers lightly tug the fabric of his boxers down over his burning skin.

“Jesus!”

Ian’s cock throbs treacherously despite his shock at seeing the angry blush suffusing Mickey’s backside.

“Please …”

Ian’s attention snaps back into focus and he runs his hand over Mickey’s hair, wiping his thumb across one delicately structured cheekbone.

“You had enough?”

“No … please … I …”

At a loss for words Mickey bucks his hips. Ian nods and pats Mickey’s ass lightly a few times before resuming his punishing rhythm. Beads of sweat pop up along the soft curve of Mickey’s lower back and Ian pauses his latest onslaught to lick them off, noticing the fistfuls of bedding caught beneath inked knuckles. 

“You are so beautiful, Mick. So beautiful.”

He murmurs and discreetly reaches for the lube. Mickey has taken the spanking in near silence but as Ian’s slick fingers begin to prep him, he pushes himself up onto his elbows with a startled gasp.

Ian begins to kiss from the nape of Mickey’s neck down to each scorching cheek. He wants to be gentle, wants to call him some little pet name like ‘Babe’ but it’s not what Mickey needs and so he bites the word back and gives him something that Ian instinctively knows will mean more to him.

“You have been really fucking good, Mickey. Really good.”

The answering shuddered exhalation of breath tells Ian he got it right.

“I’m gonna take care of you. I’ve got you, Mick.”

Ian forces as much certainty into his voice as he can and complements his words with steady hands on Mickey’s shoulders as he joins with him. The feel of Mickey’s ass, hot and swollen against Ian’s belly is nearly the undoing of both of them but they find a rhythm together.

“I love you.”

It’s guttural and harsh, and for a moment Ian thinks he may have misheard but the fierce kiss Mickey presses to their linked fingers in the second before climax tells him he did not. Ian doesn’t have the breath to say it back so he just squeezes Mickey’s fingers tightly in response and closes his eyes as the feeling overwhelms him and carries him away. 

As they lie tangle in each other, Ian hears a softly mumbled ‘Firecrotch’ from the mess of dark hair and heaving breath beneath him and grins to himself.

*

Ian passes the champagne bottle back to Mickey, who swigs from it nonchalantly and passes it back.

“Shit ain’t bad once it calms down a bit.”

“You mean once it goes flat?”

Ian sniffed at the bottle and shrugged, tipping it to his lips with relish. He had come back from the land of Gatsby and was once again content to be in Southside.

“It’s still bubbly just not fuckin’ volcanic.”

Mickey protested, taking it back and having another mouthful.

“Like my …”

Ian broke off as Mickey elbowed him playfully in the ribs. The jostling movement disturbed something tangled in the sheets and Ian hooked his big toe around it, lifting the metal up.

“We didn’t use your cuffs.”

“Next time.”

Mickey smiled and leant his head contentedly back against the headboard.

“Did you … uh … did you like it, Mick?”

Mickey gave Ian a side eye and then shrugged. It was a little late to act coy

“Yeah. You’re a brutal mother fucker when you want to be.”

The horrified look on Ian’s face makes him laugh and Mickey leans over to kiss his boyfriend happily.

They share the champagne back and forth, along with a couple of cigarettes. Mickey begins to doze off after a while and Ian slides him down the bed, tucking a blanket around them and curling himself against Mickey’s sturdy back.

“You’re full of surprises, you know?”

“Mmhmm. Ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Mickey grins and Ian nips his neck affectionately, incredibly glad that he brought home a stolen bottle of champagne.


End file.
